JxHQ: Prisoner of Hope
by peacefulgrace
Summary: After seven years of wreaking havoc with the Joker, Harley Quinn is about to learn the most important lesson of her life. Everyone deserves a second chance...even those whose souls seem beyond redemption.
1. Prologue: Erotic Nightmare

**A/N: **Bonjour et bienvenue, tout le monde! I've got a one-shot under my belt; I figured it was time to get down to business. I beg to put before you "Prisoner of Hope." It doesn't necessarily settle into any particular universe of comic lore; it simply is. I shall endeavor to update on a weekly basis but classes are starting up again tomorrow to I extend my apologies in advance if a chapter comes late. allow me to tantalize you with the Prologue. Let me know what you think and enjoy the journey! All ideas and suggestions are most welcome! Any questions PM! _Alors, allons-y!_

**Summary:** After seven years wreaking havoc with the Joker, Harley Quinn is about to learn the most important lesson of her life. Everyone deserves a second chance...even those whose souls seem past all redemption.

**Disclaimer:** Sigh...I own _rien_.

Prologue:

There was blood. Why was there so much of it? Where was it all coming from? A pair of slim, powerful hands closed around her throat. Her body protested the attack while her mind ravenously begged for more. _Jesus, why do I love this? I belong to him. This is how it should be…_

_No, this isn't right._

His hot skin glided against her own, a sticky, wet feeling pooling around her abdomen. A hand caught in her hair. She inhaled gratefully as he released her, only to be greeted by a swift slap to the cheek. An alarming kiss nearly stopped her heart, his ferocious teeth piercing the plump, apple red flesh of her bottom lip. The pleasure could not be any more enlightening for her. Was she near God? Yes,_ he_ was her God. Her soul. Her being. A nervous giggle swam out of her throat as he pulled away. More blood slipped gracefully in crimson slivers down her chin. That beautiful face, wicked and imposing in its glory, hovered over her weakening countenance. _That gorgeous demon._ A sinister smile swept over his angular features, the dark eyes reflecting her demise. An intense heat mounted within the core of her stomach. God, he was magnificent. Her legs widened for him as he pounded into her again and again, raising a fist to punch her squarely across the jaw as he did so. She distinguished the sickening _crack _of a bone and ignored the rising impulse to vomit. She thought he might split her pelvic bone as he picked up speed. She wasn't sure which would break first. The pain—how _exquisite_. This was more than just his typical sexual fury…

_No, this isn't right. _

His terrifying laughter pierced her eardrums as he reached his inevitable release. It didn't matter that she couldn't breathe or see straight. Her body betrayed her as she screamed his name while he bestowed the gift of his carnal lust inside her swollen, bleeding hole. It was all far too much and as she reached her climax, he drew away from her like lightning and thrust his foot into her side. Her face contorted in torment and pleasure, she was almost certain she'd just swallowed a tooth. There was nothing left to do now…except to die. Death would be most welcome to take her. She wouldn't mind very much. She stopped making noise after the third kick, but he didn't. The inhuman cackle erupting from the gaping void where his heart should have been sent her into a dizzying wave of semi-consciousness. Or perhaps it was the blood loss that was responsible. She couldn't tell. _Where is he now?_

Hot breath on her ear. _Found you,_ a soft smile played about her lips.

"Well, my little Harley Quinn, it appears that your usefulness has reached its end," he purred.

His high-pitched voice, cold and unforgiving, the siren song of her soul would lure her back every time. Would she be strong enough to return to him now? Softer than a butterfly's wings flapping upon her earlobe came the whisper.

"Sweets to the sweet, farewell…"

_No, this isn't right_ _at all_.

**A/N:_ Poor little love. The submissive fun has taken an ugly turn for the worst. Your thoughts? _**


	2. Chapter 1: Lost and Found

Chapter 1: Lost and Found

"How did you manage to find her, Commissioner?" Dr. Joan Leland's firm voice echoed through the halls of the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. The manifestation of severity so frequently allied to the middle-aged doctor was obscured by horror and concern for her former colleague and protégé, who laid utterly catatonic on the gurney as she and Commissioner Jim Gordon made their way to the medical facility. Their steady footfalls were like thunder to Harley's fragile ears; her head felt five sizes bigger than normal. The orderlies padded along beside the squealing wheels of the gurney, and Harley suddenly whimpered at the awful screeching against the tile. Joan looked pitifully at the young woman.

Harleen's brilliant blue eyes lost much of their previous luster of the years._ Flawed sapphires, _Joan frowned to herself; evidently the delightful eagerness on which Harleen prided herself too had all but vacated this helpless vessel of a woman. An agonizing groan at last fled her cracked lips and Joan shook her head in sorrow. The young lady's elegant, curvy figure tucked protectively into the fetal position, Harleen continued to let out small shrieks and gasps as she made the sincere effort to breathe.

"Well, that's the strangest part of the whole affair, doctor," Gordon sighed heavily, adjusting his spectacles upon the bridge of his long nose. It had been a long evening; he had grown accustomed to this. His unexpected visitor, however, really threw him for a loop. "We found her in a bloody heap on the steps of the station about two hours ago as if someone had just—left her there."

A chill flooded through Gordon's brawny figure. He did not scare easily. This instance, on the other hand, jolted him out of his jaded state. Batman would never leave someone broken and left to their death after an encounter. No. Only one came to mind…the devil that mocked and mutilated the city Gordon took an oath to serve and protect until the day life left his body. The Joker.

Joan shot a hasty glance over her shoulder at the Commissioner, who'd significantly slowed his pace. Ragged and worn from the constant battle of ensuring justice from ever present threats. No time to recover. No time to lick one's wounds in the corner. His steel gray eyes dictated his mind was far from this place.

"Why would _he_ leave her there?" Joan wondered aloud, more to herself than to the older gentleman at her side so lost in the disarray of the night's events. A frantic look at Harleen told her that something was dreadfully amiss…

Not ten minutes before, the cops wheeled the terrifying clown villainess known to Gotham as the Harley Quinn, now battered and limp as a rag doll, into the main entrance followed swiftly by a grim looking Commissioner Gordon. Joan surveyed the inflicted damage.

Two broken ribs, a concussion, a swollen black eye which Harleen could not open, bruises and bite marks decorating her chest and neck, and an odd abrasion running the length of her left inner thigh which was still bleeding lightly. By the looks of it, Joan deduced a particularly sharp carving knife as the culprit. There was blood caked in her stunning blonde hair. Dried flecks of crimson dotted her face and most of her body. The garish clown make-up of her murderous alter ego ran haphazardly in streaks of smeared red, white, and black along fair skin. Marks left by possessive fingers lined her wrists and throat. She swallowed the emotions threatening to emerge from her eyes and mouth, merely beckoning with a shaky hand for the police to bring her inside. _Oh, Harleen, what has this beast done to you?_

**A/N: Salut, mes petites! So following the brutal act in the prologue, we come to find out the Joker ditched his beloved moll into the hands of the authorities. Why on earth would he do that? Why not? It's in his nature and only makes sense to him alone. If he had a plan, it is doubtful he would let her in on it. Harley is in very sensitive condition at the moment; unfortunately, it's not the first time she's been thrown in Arkham because of the Joker's abandonment. However, something is different about this time...**

**Criticism/Compliments welcome! Hope you are enjoying! Much affection!**


	3. Chapter 2: La Berceuse Curieux

**A/N: Salutations, dear readers! Hope you are enjoying the story thus far! I humbly put before you the next chapter in our tale of tragedy and woe. So our beloved Harley Quinn finds herself once again at the mercy of her former peers, however, things are just a little different this time around. Let's see what happens, shall we? **

Chapter 2: La Berceuse Curieux

Harley hummed gently to herself, the soothing vibrating from her throat tickling her lips and tongue. She still couldn't place the tune…some faraway melody from another life perhaps. She didn't even know the lyrics. It sure sounded sweet, like a lullaby. Her mom never sang her lullabies. _Mom._ How foreign that sounded. Harley furrowed her brow in an attempt to recall the individual associated with this title. _What did she look like?_ She curled a lock of goldenrod hair absently about her index finger, beginning instead to whistle the same mysterious song.

Joan eyed her patient with trepidation. Harleen failed to answer her last question. She _always_ did. She often drifted off in the middle of their sessions and her eyes glossed over. Her bottom lip would be subject to gnawing related to deep concentration or anxiety. In Harleen's case, it could have been both. Was she trying to remember what happened? Joan could only speculate. Harleen did not give Joan any indication she'd riddled out the mysterious incident that led to her current predicament.

In the last six weeks Harleen Quinzel called Arkham her home, she never once mentioned _his_ name. This came as a great surprise to the psychiatric staff and even Dr. Arkham himself. Her previous incarcerations warranted nothing short of wails and incessant crying out for her "Puddin'." Joan found it remarkable that the woman in front of her had no recollection of the event that brought her here most recently, nor did she seem inclined to discuss the process of tapping into that memory. Over and over Harleen shrugged, "I just don't know, Joanie. I wish I did…"

Nevertheless, it was evident Harleen was bothered by _something_. Joan simply didn't recall a time before when Harleen was so...quiet. So pensive. So lost in her own thoughts--whatever they happened to be. Joan dared to hope for the chatty, bubbling specimen of patient she'd treated so many time in the past. This transformation both disturbed and fascinated the good doctor. _She has to be at least **thinking** of him_, Joan arched an eyebrow, _even if she won't talk about him. Or perhaps she has forgotten... _

Lies. All simple lies. Harley knew. Oh, yes, she _knew_ what he'd done to her. The ultimate betrayal. He abused her. Normally, this excited her, made her so ready for him. Not this time. She supposed he was determined to close the book of her life this round. The other times were fun, playful, dangerous, sexy…_weren't they?_ _He didn't really mean it…_Harley chuckled to herself. _You simple girl,_ she rolled her eyes at the recognition of her own naivete. _Of course he meant it. He proved it to you didn't he? Bludgeoned you and fucked you. __**Abandoned**__ you._ The scene spun every minute of the day through her mind like a terrible, silent black and white film. The blood was hers. Under her fingernails. Dancing across her fair flesh in a scarlet stain. He'd laughed in her face as he claimed her_…the bastard_. She shivered. She'd given her life to him, devoted her very existence to serving his every whim and in return what had she received? A psychological plague, physical disfigurement, a tattered reputation, and a miserable residence in a loony bin. She skipped after him without a word, laughed at his cheesy jokes, watched The Three Stooges with him (even though they'd watched the same shorts at least a hundred times), pressed his clothes to perfection, let him have his way with her (a rare and violent occurrence she found herself absolutely addicted to), and never protested his merit in any situation. No matter how crazy it sounded. No matter who got killed in the end. She stood poised beside him , hammer in hand and made up smile plastered onto her child-like features. Until he came to the conclusion that she was no longer valuable. No longer—what was the word he used—_useful_? Why didn't he simply kill her? Why drag out what was predestined for her? Why ravage her broken body in a final act of dominance and dump her at Gordon's doorstep to die? Did he know she survived? All these questions…_son of a bitch_.

"Harleen?"" Joan's maternal voice cooed, shattering the brutal line of questioning to which Harley currently subjected herself.

"Hmmm?" Harleen glanced up. Joan clearly spotted in the girl's eyes the soggy, red puffiness of oncoming tears. _She remembered all right._ That much was certain. Joan knew in her heart Harleen would never reveal the macabre accomplishments of her former lover to a living soul. _However, it __**could**__ be enough to thrust Harleen back into reality,_ Joan smiled with a renewed sense of hope.

**A/N: Hmmm...is Harley finally beginning to see the light? Will Dr. Joanie be able to help her? I really enjoy the dynamic of their relationship. I don't believe it has really been explored to its full potential. In a way, I see Dr. Joan Leland as sort of a motherly type and as she and Harleen once worked side by side, she has very strong personal feelings about this case (as unorthodox as it may be, Joan is still human) and we will see how this concept develops between the two women as the story progresses ::crosses fingers::. What do you think thus far? Any reviews and criticism are most welcome!**

**Thank you to Joker's Bunny and Hordepally for their reviews! :) You are simply lovely! **


	4. Chapter 3: Retrospect

**A/N: My gift to you, fair readers! Review and enjoy! Harley's little world is just plain upside down! Poor dear...**

Chapter 3: Retrospect

_Can I still do this doctor thing?_ Harley sat cross-legged upon the whining mattress of her cot, picking at her fingernails. They were a faint pink. _The blood never really goes away, does it?_ she smirked. She swiftly cast aside the budding vision of _his_ lithe body hot and menacing over her own. Glorious oblivion at his bloody fingertips. She cringed, letting out a pained gasp as if she'd been slapped. _Where did that come from? No, no, no, _she ordered herself, tucking her hands beneath her bottom to prevent further distraction.

_It's probably a bad idea anyway_, she decided sullenly, kicking her mind back into possibility of future careers, _given my previous experience_. Still, it was a miracle that Harley was even considering returning to the real world this soon in the game. To live a normal existence. _Normal. What does that mean?_

Seven years on the run with _him_. Now **that** felt normal to her. Sleeping on filthy floors with only her lover's purple coat to keep her warm (If she was lucky). Hiding behind dumpsters and running out of ammo with the cops closing in. Feeling the back of his elegant hand sweep across her face, sending her sprawling to the ground, her panties already wet for him. Her make-up smeared on his clean suit as he growled his pleasure, biting into her neck. Smashing her hammer into thick skulls, watching with glee as the blood sprayed over her costume and the fresh corpse slumped to the floor. All the while he howled with callous joy. His creation; a mirror image of his own superior being. _NO._ That wasn't normal. It was ludicrous--

Suddenly, she bounced up, the springs squealing under her weight as she perched on tip toe to catch the view outside her window. She clutched onto the cool metal bars blockading any possible escape. Her sole connection to the outside world. How grateful she felt in that moment, idly watching the clouds float by in the breeze of a spring afternoon. Harley thought the clouds looked like marshmallows. As a kid, she remembered being flat on her back gazing up at the sky. She squinted one eye, the tip of her pink tongue poked out between her lips in firm resolve. As the clouds ambled past, she'd hold her thumb and index finger up and pretend to pluck them from the sky. She'd pop the imaginary marshmallows into her mouth and chew in earnest. Sometimes she'd even pick her teeth like some of the sugary goo was hiding among her baby teeth…or did she? _Was that my life?_

Harley shook her head to eliminate the impending confusion and grinned at the thought of marshmallows. The pleasant sensation sidling up to Harley vanished instantly and was replaced by violent nausea. Harley gagged, her throat dry as she gulped for air; the acids in her stomach churned viciously as she sprinted to the toilet in the opposite corner of her cell. She couldn't hold back…and promptly expelled her lunch.

After she'd feverishly emptied her stomach's contents, Harley dragged her jumpsuit's sleeve across her dripping mouth and groaned, belching loudly. _That's the third time today._ She lolled her head to one side and blinked away the tears blooming in her eyes._ Maybe it's a bad reaction to the new meds Joanie gave me,_ she let out an anguished cry of agony as her stomach flip-flopped thrice over._ Am I getting the damn flu or somethin'?_ She opened her eyes lazily after a moment, her unfocused gaze falling on the small gaps between the bars of her window. An enormous white blob sailed across a river of deep blue. _Marshmallows. _Harley leaned over the porcelain bowl and vomited again.

**A/N: Yuck. Our little gal has some serious issues getting over Mistah J. Wouldn't any woman? He's not exactly the kind you just forget! **

**P.S. The title of the previous chapter (in case anyone was wondering WTF?) is French for "strange/curious lullaby". **


	5. Chapter 4: Dissension

Chapter 4:

"Impossible! Are you positive?" Dr. Jeremiah Arkham paced the length of his office in four strides, spinning on his heel and stalking back in the other direction like an enraged lion in its cage. A tall, slender man with broad shoulders and a slight limp, Dr. Arkham could be the force of a hurricane when he was angry. The frightening authority he held with his staff kept Joan at a distance. Her visits with him were brief and scarce and she preferred them as such. His temper reached its peak this morning and unfortunately Joan Leland was forced to bear witness. He wore a frown that yanked the wrinkles of his face downward so that he resembled a rabid bulldog. He removed his glasses and tossed them onto his desk, rubbing his eyes. He desperately hoped he would awaken from this nightmare soon._ When I open my eyes, Joan Leland will be gone,_ he assured himself. _I will be alone and I will be able to enjoy the lunch Beatrice prepared for me._ Alas, when the older man lifted his eyelids, the slim figure and sickeningly concerned visage of Dr. Leland sat vigilantly before him. He turned toward his overstuffed bookcase in disgust.

"Doctor Arkham , please. I am one hundred percent certain of this! We've run tests three times and the results are conclusive," she pleaded. "Harleen Quinzel _is_ in fact—pregnant."

"Stop saying that!" Arkham howled, rounding on her with a new fire in his eyes. Joan visibly shook at this outburst, prepared to leave if it became necessary. In her fifteen years at the institution the sight of his animalistic expression of consummate rage was heard of but **rarely** beheld. Sure, he was understandably distressed when patients managed to escape, but that was a child's tantrum compared to the display in her wake.

He stopped abruptly, as though he had just become aware of Joan's presence once more and ran a hand through his curly silver hair. The collection of perspiration at his temples was gently dabbed away by an ivory monogrammed handkerchief. All at once, he transformed into a gentleman of manners and poise. Joan knew better.

"Doctor, have you informed the patient of her…condition?" his voice was all kindness. Joan hesitated.

"No, sir. I thought you should be the first to know."

An odd smile crossed the director's face. Appreciation? Sympathy? Joan failed to decipher the bizarre illustrations of his face as the director took his seat opposite her. There was something…evil…in his eyes.

"Well between us and these walls, my _dear_ doctor, I don't believe we should. It may be devastating to her progress. This news could very well undo two months' worth of work. You have done so much for Miss Quinzel in spite of the miserable circumstances surrounding her history. Would it not be disappointing to see it all fall apart…again?"

Joan's brow hardened at this. She should have known. Still, she could hardly contain her surprise.

"I—what are you suggesting we do then, doctor?" she breathed. _No,_ she thought,_ he wouldn't_…

"For the benefit and well being of our patient, it would be prudent not to inform Miss Quinzel of her predicament and quickly eradicate the threat ourselves at the institution's medical facility," his tone was far too casual for a conversation of this magnitude. They weren't out for coffee after all, talking television and politics. This was a child's life. This was Harleen's life. Joan's heart pounded so loudly in her ears she didn't truly think she'd heard him correctly.

"Do you mean to say—"

"Come now, doctor! We are equipped for this sort of thing. You needn't worry about _your_ patient. She'll come out all right," he interrupted. _Wait, wasn't she "our" patient a second ago? _Joan pursed her lips as Arkham nonchalantly shuffled some papers about on his desk, signaling this discussion was reaching its end. Joan could no longer stand it. She gritted her teeth and stood up, her heels clacking sternly upon the floor. This was unacceptable. Outrageous. Inhumane.

"With all due respect, sir, should we not leave that decision up to Harleen? After all, we cannot coerce her into—"

"Don't be absurd, _doctor_ Leland," his tone mocking. "Of course we can! As you are not doubt aware, your patient is criminally insane—incapable of making sound decisions and thereby completely unfit to raise a child. She can't even take care of herself!" Arkham insisted more forcefully. _I should have this shrew thrown out for insubordination,_ he narrowed his brown eyes at the unwavering woman who stood in the way of his one hope for redemption. She continued in her damnable idealistic manner.

"I humbly disagree. Harleen has shown great improvement! You just said so yourself, did you not? I believe the event which brought her to us was the straw that broke the camel's back so to speak. She finally recognizes the Joker for what he is and I _know_ she comprehends how ill he used her now. Harleen having this baby could very well jumpstart her path to a full recovery! We have seen numerous accounts of troublesome individuals who 'grow up' when faced with the responsibility of parenthood. This has the potential to bring about a stunning breakthrough for her!"

"Next you'll be telling me all we have to do to cure our patients is hand them a kid and let them go!" Arkham snarled with a heartless laugh.

Joan exhaled, astonished at his inability to see things logically. Arkham looked murderous. He rose silently from his seat, resting his palms on his desk. He glanced at the black and white photograph of his darling daughter Harriet before he spoke. Curly hair, bright eyes, just like her father. He silently prayed she would never inherit this necessary cruelty.

"Are you truly concerned about having the elimination of the spawn of two demented clowns on your conscience? Will you really lose sleep at night? Because I can assure you, dear lady, that we'd be doing Gotham a tremendous favor," his voice dripped poison, seeping into her brain and planting treacherous ideas to breed. Joan paused only an instant to consider his point. Harleen was a good person. She could never be what the Joker is. No, Harleen was human. Most importantly and despite what had befallen her, Harleen could still _love_.

"Doctor Arkham, she _can_ do this. Harleen will be a wonderful mother. I'll do whatever it takes to help her make it through. It is my duty, sir," Joan answered finally, gazing first at the floor and as her voice gained strength she met his hollow stare.

Silence was his first response. Not a blink. Not a shout. Not a sigh. Nothing. Joan contemplated losing her job for the first time since she walked into the office. He could do it with a snap of his fingers. She imagined packing her things, her piles of books and trinkets, stripped of her license to practice, and—Harleen. What would become of her? She'd be lost to the system. Left for dead. They'd be no better than the Joker in the end, Joan thought resignedly. All of them…immoral, unethical, as twisted as the people they locked up in this place.

She jumped in fright as Arkham collapsed into his chair, reclining indifferently. His smile was false, crooked teeth leering at her foolishness.

"On your head may it be then."

**A/N: So yes, our dear little clown gal is "preggers". I really wanted to explore the ethics behind having a pregnant inmate. In prison, pregnant women are given care and allowed to have their children in most cases. I did some research and there are many programs out there that have special services for in-patients at mental institutions that are pregnant. I am trying to make the notion of this happening to Harley as true to life as possible (as it can be in a comic universe anyway ;p) and wish to explore those ideas in later chapters! I wonder what Harley is going to think once she hears the news????**

**Hope you enjoyed! Any suggestions, ideas, and reviews are greatly appreciated! I see many people checking it out but not commenting. What do you think? I value everyone's opinion. **

**Also…what sex shall the baby be? Male of Female? **


	6. Chapter 5: Flash

Chapter 5:

Joan lifted Harley by the shoulders, shaking her lightly.

"Harleen? Say something please?"

The blonde seemed incapable of vocalizing anything. Her mouth hung open limply, a deep breath dragging out slowly. Joan knew she was struggling to process the news of her pregnancy. Her face was hidden by locks of yellow hair dancing in front of her eyes. She stared straight ahead, blue eyes unblinking.

_Pregnant_, Harley scrunched her brow in fear. _Is that why he…_

Joan spoke soothingly to her, but Harley was long gone. _That would explain the vomit,_ Harley shrugged and fought back the urge to burp, bile swirling angrily in her stomach.

_He did this on purpose. _

_Does that mean he is coming back for me? He doesn't want me to have the baby while we're out there and risk me getting hurt… _

Harley's heart skipped happily at the tender notion. A more rational side of brain scolded her for being so naïve. _Since when has he ever thought about your well-being?_ It reminded her.

_Yes, you're right. _

A disturbing idea overtook her, her eyes growing wider.

_What if he finds out? He'll kill me!_ _He'll kill…_

"Will they let me keep it?" Harley demanded, her abrupt return to the conversation frightening Joan, who smiled warmly.

"Yes, Harleen."

Harleen nodded, acknowledging she'd heard the affirmation. She fell into another contemplative silence. Joan rubbed her shoulder gently as a mother would her daughter.

"How soon before I know if it's a boy or girl?"

"We have to wait two more months, but don't worry about a thing, Harleen. We are going to take you through every step of this, all right? You just sit back and take care of yourself, okay?" Joan said kindly.

_Good ol' Joanie. Why is she so good to me?_

_I'm gonna be a mom. Mom. _

Joan reassured Harleen that she was going to personally ensure her patient's health and safety during and after the pregnancy. She explained that she had every confidence that Harleen would be able to recover and live a wonderfully fulfilling life with her child. It was her second chance at life. Her miracle. When the time came, they would make the arrangements for her. Give her a new name. Set her up with job. In a new town. Nobody would know a thing. She could live peacefully. Start over. Clean slate. All that happy stuff.

_Peace. What have I done to deserve this? _

Harley smiled, putting a hand over her belly and applying gentle pressure. There is a baby growing in there. A little life. All of a sudden she felt giddy. Joan continued to grin widely.

There was still one crucial detail that equally terrified and excited her senses.

_It was __**his **__baby_.


	7. Chapter 6: Progress

**A/N: Holy smokes! My humblest apologies to everyone! School, work, and theatre have been incredibly busy. We just closed a show and have started a new one so I'm putting up two chappies to make up for lost time! Hope everyone is enjoying the story! Thank you so much for all who have put this fic on alerts and or favorites! Much obliged for your reviews! Keep 'em coming! You are splendid and I am grateful and humbled by this experience!**

Chapter 6: Progress

A baby boy.

That's what the doctor told her.

Harley continued with her sessions in Joan's office. Her attitude changed just as Joan predicted it would. She asked for serious reading material; all the information she could get her paws on. She wanted to understand what was happening to her body. Mostly she had queries about vitamins. What was good to eat? What should she avoid? Could she still exercise? Were there special stretches she should be doing to prepare for labor? Joan gave her a picture of the ultrasound to put up in her new room. The ultrasound was sure an interesting experience. As the technician pointed out the baby to Harleen, her eyes grew to the size of saucers.

"Wow…that's my…"

"Son. It's a boy. Congratulations!" the technician smiled affectionately. Joan stood behind Harleen, patting her on the shoulder. The technician waited for her reaction. Usually women cried…all those hormones going haywire. Instead, the tiny blonde cocked her head to one side curiously, leaning closer to the screen. She swallowed a scream.

"What the heck is that? An extra arm?" she raised her upper lip in a mix of confusion and disgust. Joan put a hand to her mouth. _Oh my God,_ Harley thought miserably. _My kid is gonna be a freak!_

The technician stifled a laugh. She cleared her throat loudly, exchanged amused glances with Joan, who caught on and was also trying desperately not to giggle.

"No, actually. That, Miss Quinzel... is your son's penis," she said carefully. Harley held her breath, turning her head the other way to get a better look.

"Oh—huh. I see it now! Yea! Okay, that's better!" she nodded vigorously, the hint of a smile and pink blush rushing up to her cheeks. _Just like his daddy,_ a tiny voice reminded her.

_Shut up,_ she told herself, turning her attention to the swaying fetus on the monochrome screen. The technician pointed to a small dot steadily coming in and out of focus.

"And here, is your son's heart," she whispered, sitting back and observing Harleen as tears trickled softly down her cheeks.

_God, he was beautiful._

Since then, Harley had taken the photograph and placed it above her bed. The room was clean, simple: an old wood desk from a former staff member's office and creaky swivel chair, a cushy bed instead of a cot with a mirror on the opposite wall and a sink and toilet. There was a small flaw in the mirror; a crack running along the top left corner. Harley didn't mind. She took pleasure in standing sideways before the glass, watching her tummy expand as the weeks wore on. This latest setting was much better than four walls of blinding white abyss. Harleen was almost able to forget where she was entirely. Almost.

From the corners, Doctor Arkham regarded her with revulsion. _This is absurd. Joan giving this little psycho "What to Expect When You're Expecting."_ Only yesterday she approached him about having a Lamaze instructor come over to work with Harley a couple times a week. Sooner or later, the Joker would discover Harley Quinn's little secret and when he did…

_Hmm, perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing for him to…_

_No,_ he told himself. _I want no dealings with that scum_. It vexed him greatly to know that he had been driven to such hysterics. All because of that—woman.

Joan, so blown out with her own importance. So smug because she figured she was making successful leaps with the ditzy clown reject. All the while, he had been forced to keep everything under wraps. They settled Harleen into a small room in solitary confinement. Nobody but one female doctor, a nurse, and Dr. Leland ever made contact with her. They all signed agreements provided by the legal staff. Discretion was absolutely imperative. Arkham was not interested in publicizing this whole affair. There would be hell to pay. A riot undoubtedly. He would burn for allowing this to transpire. Breeding a killer clown circus was not exactly his intention when he went into this business.

Arkham pondered the idea of having a child in the asylum. What a place to grow up…how long would it last? Joan seemed confident that Harleen was doing well enough it was quite possible to get her released and on her way before the baby's arrival. Arkham did not agree, although he'd rifled through Leland's reports many times. He cringed at the disgustingly positive verbiage.

_Patient has recently expressed her desire to work in fashion design. The fact that she is setting goals for herself indicates a sensible progression towards reentering society. The patient's behavior has grown much more amiable and confident in nature. Her disposition, at first borderline antisocial, continues to exceed expectations. Thankfully, she still has not mentioned the object of her former obsession. The imminent phase of motherhood has completely renewed her self-worth…in the last session, patient mentioned baby names…_

Arkham cringed at the thought, flinging the papers up into the air and growling under his breath.

Would his worst fear be realized?

_Would the offspring of the Joker, the most feared and hated man in Gotham, be a chip off the old block?_

_God help us all. _

**_A/N: This was such fun to write! And yes...we all know Mistah J is incredibly well endowed. It only seems right that his son should share similar...qualities...ahem. :P Reviews please and thank you! _**


	8. Chapter 7: Reflection

Wow, I cannot even begin to express how deeply sorry I am for those of you who have taken interest in and read my story thus far. I'm sure many have given up, but in case you were still wondering how it all turns out, I'm posting the next three chapters for you. Life takes its turns and things change, you know how it goes. You lose track of time, your work gets in the way, excuses up the wazoo! Currently working on the prologue and possibly sequel, we'll see how the response is.

Enjoy the next few chapters! Thank you to all reviewers/readers!

Chapter 7: Reflection

Harley tried to suck in her gut, but there was no mistaking the round protruding belly of her son growing inside her. She exhaled, pushing her lips out into a funny pursing kiss. He kicked again and Harley grinned widely. The sensation gave her goose bumps. She'd been kicked enough from the outside; this was an entirely different feeling all together. It didn't hurt her, not much anyway. Not the way _his_ kicks left her weak and aching for weeks. It was endearing really; he was letting her know that he was there.

"I know," she cooed to her tummy, rubbing the stretching skin with swollen fingers. Seven months. Her feet killed. Her breasts hurt, although she was happy to have grown a cup size. She prayed they wouldn't sag after the birth. It broke her heart that she was losing her fantastic figure. Naturally, there was no way she could imagine not running her daily pump session at the gym; although the last couple of months she'd been slacking for perfectly acceptable reasons.

She untangled the mess of her blonde hair and swept it back into a ponytail. Her roots were beginning to show through, the deep brown unfamiliar to her. She could not recall the last time she'd seen her natural hair color. So many years she'd worked tirelessly to keep the frisky golden coif. It didn't matter any longer. Harleen heard that hair dye chemicals could be potentially harmful to an unborn baby. Whether that was fact or fiction was irrelevant; Harleen wasn't taking any chances with something so significant. Besides, the brunette look would be a refreshing change. _A new color for my new life,_ she smiled.

It pleased her to think of regular old things like this. Pregnancy, being a mommy. It was something she'd dreamt about after college. Settle down with a good career, have a couple kids. Isn't that what everyone wanted?

_You didn't always want that,_ the little voice teased her.

_Yes I did,_ she shot back, putting her hands on her widening hips and glaring into the mirror. _Even when I was with_…

Harley pushed away from the sink and waddled over to the window, settling into her chair. She flipped through "10,000 Baby Names" again, tossing it onto her bed and folding her arms over her stomach. Three months had passed since the first ultrasound. She had no luck finding a name suitable for her child.

"I could really go for a chocolate fudge sundae right about now," she moaned, licking her lips. That certainly wasn't happening. Gestational diabetes saw to it that Harley did not get the sugar she so craved. _What a horrible punishment,_ she pouted. _This kid is already tormenting me!_

_Just like his daddy…_

"No! No! No! He's _not_ going to be like that!" she shouted, rising to her feet. Her gut churned and there was another kick in her left side. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she returned to the mirror. It had been a long time since she had truly taken the time to look at herself. Really _see_ herself. Behind the mask of red, black, and white make-up, Harleen did not exist. There was no room for her. Harley Quinn reigned supreme. Now, here she stood, Harleen taking back what was rightfully hers. Her life. She patted the spot where the baby kicked gingerly.

"Don't worry. Momma's here."


	9. Chapter 8: To Redeem

I've always found the relationship between Leland and Harley very interesting. She was something of a mother I felt, very protective and nurturing, yet also firm. I wondered what Joan might think of her former colleague and the stakes of this particular situation for her.

Chapter 8:

Joan secured Harleen's file safely beneath her arm as she strode to her patient's room. The asylum wasn't as rambunctious as it used to be. Things quieted down dramatically. Perhaps she only felt that way because she spent so much time in solitary confinement with Harleen. The nightmarish noises of the institution took years to tune out. At long last, the deadly cacophony of the mentally unstable no longer fazed her. She devoted her energy to the rehabilitation of Harleen Quinzel.

She didn't care how long it took, she would make things right. She _owed_ it to Harleen.

Maybe it was guilt. She'd buried the idea long ago…or at least she convinced herself she had. She agreed to allow Harleen to interview the Joker. Joan watched in horror as Harleen slowly succumbed to the madman's designs, seduced by his nihilistic philosophy and wicked charm. His false flattery and sexual prowess. She could have put a stop to it all. She could have saved Harleen from seven years of _that_ life. Why had she done it? It made no sense. The girl was barely out of school. What did she truly know about any of it at all? Degrees, references, internships, top marks...they'd all been incredibly impressed with Harleen's background.

_So much promise. Lost to the selfish wishes of a beguiling sociopath._

She was so young, impressionable. Eager to prove herself. Smart, pretty, athletic: a catch for any young man lucky enough to know her. She had all the guards and orderlies drooling after her. Ignoring them, she'd bolted for the man on the inside of the cell. A man far more destructive than the poor child recognized. No doubt that was the attraction. The mystery. The fame. The danger.

_It was so obvious now._ Why had she failed to see it before?

She had. She knew very well what it would mean. But she'd insisted, _I'll keep an eye on her. She might surprise us all where so many others failed. _

_She surprised us all right. Unfortunately..._

Joan straightened her back and lifted her chin. _It's in the past,_ she told herself firmly, _leave it._

Everything would work out this time, she was certain. As she approached Harleen's room, Joan paused, leaning against the wall. She'd done all she could. Endured Arkham's reprimands and the nasty looks from colleagues. Even her husband asked her why on earth she was risking her job for this nutcase.

_Because it's my fault…_

Joan could feel the tears coming now. She didn't protest their arrival, shaking in hushed sobs. She'd allowed it to eat her up from the inside out. Every time, she fought to have Harleen returned to her to ensure her safety from that monster. _Not Blackgate Prison, _she'd insisted. _Let me help her. She's a troubled young woman, but not beyond hope. _And every time _He_ never failed to persuade her back to his way of thinking. Into the life of a criminal. Harleen was no criminal. She would succeed. She would give Harleen her life back. Everything needed to make that happen was concealed inside the manila folder pressed tightly against Joan's heaving chest. As she choked out the last of her cries, Dr. Joan Leland composed herself, wiping the remains of her sadness from beneath her tired eyes, careful not to smear her eye make-up.

_The clown cannot win this time._


	10. Chapter 9: Departure

Chapter 9:

The board voted 10 to 2. Harleen Quinzel was fit to reenter society as a civilian. Arkham regarded the tiny blonde as though she were a leper, half-heartedly shaking hands with Dr. Leland, whose expression bore the brilliance of personal and professional triumph. He and the oldest member of the board voted against Quinzel's release of course. No one else seemed capable of identifying her true character. _A violent, merciless freak just as bad as the monster responsible for her creation._ Now that thing was going to roam free…not in Gotham, but still alive and well and…with child. The idea brought bile to Jeremiah Arkham's throat. His mind turned to his daughter. How he adored his sweet Harriet. She had nightmares often; he'd read that intelligent children frequently have nightmares. He couldn't imagine his precious girl playing hopscotch with the progeny of the Joker anytime soon. God, how it sent him reeling. Practically out of breath. No. The board was his last hope for reason. They failed him. Regardless of his excellent presentation and argument. She was a repeater. The damage _he'd_ done couldn't possibly be undone. Nevertheless, the board took pity on the pregnant fool. How...pathetic. Scholars and doctors and scientists alike could not rid themselves of unnecessary guilt and sympathy, just because of the petite terror's oversized abdomen. That belly wiped clean her record of past misdeeds. Murder, arson, theft, assault…simply washed away. Joan, too, had her own sway at the hearing. "Completely rehabilitated, my foot," he grumbled under his breath. All appeared hopelessly lost. As Dr. Arkham wandered back to his office, he stopped dead. He dug into his lab jacket and pulled out his cell phone. There was only one able to put a stop to this madness. It was his last resort, and that time had come, albeit reluctantly. _It must end._

Harleen Quinzel was free from the ties that bound her to Arkham. They'd given her the name Penelope Walker. Her new residence was a modest dwelling on the third floor of an apartment complex on the South side of Bludhaven. Joan secured a job for Harleen as a sales consultant at a small women's boutique. Everything was falling perfectly into place.

Harleen waddled leisurely beside Joan, all of her belongings stuffed into a small duffel Joan provided. She reached into her fleece coat pocket, triple checking that she'd indeed slipped her ultrasound photographs there before their departure. Joan snuck at glance at her. The rosy apples of her cheeks shone with the essence of rebirth. The shattered facets of her dead eyes now exhibited a profound sense of purpose. The wild blonde hair was gradually retreating back to the length of her ears, leaving a natural chocolate brown in its place. Tiny clouds of breath swirled from her pink lips as she trudged along, finding each step increasingly difficult as she went. There she was; eight months into her pregnancy and getting herself out of the wretched system and into the world. A long and exhausting battle the two women, all these years later, surfaced the victors.

Harley scowled. _Why the hell couldn't the stupid cab driver come up to the entrance?_ Didn't he know he was picking up a pregnant lady? Alas, she and Joanie were forced to walk down the hill to the gates where the driver promised to meet them. _Moron,_ she snorted. Joan swung the bag over her shoulder and kept one arm wrapped around Harley's for support. They did not speak to one another. What more needed to be said, after all? How many times had they made this same walk together? Harley lost count. No doubt about it, this time felt different somehow. Harley fell short of working out what it was that made this walk so unique…so pivotal for the _both_ of them. She opened her mouth to ask Joan what she thought, but she kept herself in check; she had no intention of ruining the tranquility of the moment.

The crunch of the gravel beneath her swelling tennis shoes pierced her ears and Harley could almost swear she smelled the unusual combination of gun smoke and cologne. She knew that scent somewhere…she shrugged, pausing in her step for only a second. Her nose was so acute to every little smell these days. Even food didn't taste the same to her anymore. She loved pickles…she hadn't been able to bring herself near a single dill since her pregnancy without turning green. So it didn't surprise her that faint smell she wouldn't have noticed before became so incredibly strong to her. All part of the process.

As the gates swung open with a resounding screech, Harley spotted the yellow checkered vehicle parked against the curb, gray smoke creeping out of the exhaust and blinding her for a second as the wind took a swift turn in their direction. Harley sidled down the hill with Joan cautiously, each step agony. _I need to sit NOW!_ Harley thought frantically. As Joan tucked the bag into the back seat and handed the driver money and directions, Harley eased herself onto the worn leather, wrapping her coat closer around her and settling her hands protectively atop her belly. She rolled down the window, smiling with relief at Joan, who spoke first.

"Well, you did it," she gave a half-smile to Harley who blushed.

"Nah, it was all you, Joanie. I just ate the asylum out of house and home…not easy to do considering how foul the cuisine is," she waved a hand and winked. Joan laughed, crossing her arms against the chilly April breeze. In a moment of awkward distraction, Joan raised her eyes to the sky. Gray and dismal. It didn't exactly reflect how she felt. Rain was not far off and if she didn't hurry, she'd be stuck climbing back up that hill in it.

"Listen, if you need anything at all—"

"You'll be the first. I swear it," Harley finished softly, squeezing Joan's hand. The older woman nodded.

"Take care, Har—Penelope," she chuckled, patting the cab's roof and watching the car speed off, Harley settling back into her seat and sighing heavily.

It was as close to her own child going off to take on the world as Joan would ever get. She hoped for the best for all of her patients, but none deserved it more than Harleen Quinzel. The rain finally made its grand appearance in a torrential downpour, but Joan didn't really seem to mind. Harleen was in good hands now…_her own_.


End file.
